


By The Light Of The Moon

by Wow_how_original



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Almost Rape, Angst, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Horse Knowledge, Lazy-ish Updates, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mutual Pining, Old Fashioned Romance, RDR2, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Yee Yee Olden Days, mentions of drinking/alcohol, red dead redemption - Freeform, red dead redemption 2 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wow_how_original/pseuds/Wow_how_original
Summary: Arthur Morgan has had a hard romantic life. Or a hard life in general, I suppose. With his childhood. With Mary and John and past lovers... Not mentioning those miserable nights involving drinking and hookups. Something Arthur is certainly guilty of. It’s not until he’s told to go hunting with Charles does he truly feel a romantic connection. One where he doesn’t just want raw, unbridled sex and not one that he knows won’t last long. And oblivious as he is, he doesn’t realize Charles feels this way too.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith (In Past), Javier Escuella/Arthur Morgan (Hookup)
Kudos: 17





	By The Light Of The Moon

The snow was really starting to come in heavy. Walkers’ legs were almost knee-deep in blank white. This white, however, was cold, and wet, and heavy. So heavy that Arthur swore he was beginning to choke on it. It was already a struggle enough that he couldn’t breathe against the cold wind, but what was one more thing? 

Arthur had always hated the cold. He’d hated the feeling of being cold. It was bitter and searing. It didn’t nip at him as it may during an early frost, it bit down, with razor-sharp rows of teeth that did not hesitate on any terms. Said bitter cold came on its own time, not wasting a second before rushing right in. Arthur knew this feeling. It was all too familiar. However, it wasn’t just the weather that brought cold. The cold came with fear, the fear he felt when he was young and watched his mother be taken by sickness and his father killed right in front of him. That strange cold frozen feeling that came right after his father was gone, following him to camp and having its way with him, the feeling of cold-blooded rage afterward that he let it happen to him, the strangely burning feeling of loneliness at the bar or with a stranger he didn’t even know the name of, and the feeling of dread after losing Boadicea. 

Arthur could name more, but he preferred not to. He urged Walker on, heading back to camp. Scouting the outskirts of the camp in the horrendous weather brought nothing but frozen digits and bad memories. He dismounted Walker and tied the Mahogany Bay Overo to the hitching post. He’d have named the Tennessee walker something more creative, but since losing his beloved Boadicea he wasn’t sure he wanted to get too bonded to this one considering the heartbreak he felt after the Blackwater failure. He also didn’t have the creativity in him given the situation the gang was in. But, despite his best efforts, he was already falling in love with the stallions quirks and curious personality and was finding himself spending more time than usual in the barn reassuring the handsome stallion and giving him whatever scraps of food he could find. He didn’t have a brush, but did try to use his own hand to loosen some dirt. Not quite as effective, but he knew Walker appreciated it. He paused though, and instead led the horse into the barn where the other horses were located. He found a space next to The Count and ran his hand over Walker, performing a makeshift grooming.

He considered unsaddling the stallion, but shook his head. He knew there might be a moment where they have to leave camp quickly, but he knew he could saddle and bridle nearly faster than a racehorse could run a 800 meter track. Arthur weighed his options for a moment, and then pulled the Latigo slightly, dropping the cinch and ultimately removing the saddle. He set it in the fence separating the three stalls from each other, so it would be easier to saddle up if he had to. He undid the noseband on the bridle, then the cheek piece, and slid it off gently, putting his hand below Walkers mouth so the horse could drop it, instead the Tennessee Walker reared and threw his head up, the bit being yanked out of his mouth. He landed to the ground with a thud, by then the other horses standing in the barn looked over, but didn’t find any reason to pick up on the panic. They’d been through hell and back, why would they get nervous from another horse being a downright fool? Arthur frowned at the stallions actions, and hung the bridle in the saddle horn. He stepped right alongside the powerful and well-built horse, knowing that here Walker could see him. He patted him, and with a hushed and slightly gravely voice worked on soothing the horse. 

“Easy, boy, it’s just you and me. You and me, boy. Woah there…” He patted and reassured the stallion until he noticed the slightest change of fear to calmness. He allowed the smallest shadow of a smile to slip, and with the slightest bounce to his voice, he praised the horse. “That’s it, boy. Just like that.” He continued to calm the gorgeous Tennessee Walker, not paying any mind to anything else, completely focused on calming Walker. So much so he hadn’t even noticed that there’s been someone else in the barn since he’d gotten in there. He fed the horse a ‘Classic Oatcake’ he’d gotten from the Adler homestead when they’d went there and had ended up burning the place down. He consisted up and headed for the door, putting his palms to it and starting to push, but a voice sounded behind him. 

“You seem to have a good hand with horses.” A voice, as smooth as the smallest stream flows and as rich as darkest chocolate. Despite the calm voice, it nearly made Arthur jump out of his own skin. He grabbed his pistol from his belt, his mind automatically going right to fight, and pointed it straight at the threat. But looking at the ‘threat’, it was not a threat at all. It was Charles Smith. Arthur paused for a moment, confused, before he dropped his pistol to his belt, not quite holstering it and putting his face in his hand. He felt his face heat up. Embarrassment, maybe. Why did he have to get like this? This wasn’t like him at all. The barn was completely silent, except for the gentle creaking of wood, steady breathing of the horses and the harsh wind pushing against the old wood outside. Arthur tried to push the thoughts rising up down, he thought that maybe, if he just stood there, pushing his palm to his forehead, what happened would simply reverse itself. But after a full minute of deafening silence, he dropped his hand, and pulled his head up. He shifted his eyes, trying to not focus on Charles, but he could feel those dark, intense eyes on him. His gaze finally settled on the man in front of him, who seemed to be crafting arrows, a sharp rock attached to a stick was a dead giveaway. Arthur inwardly groaned at himself. He shoved his embarrassment aside, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” He replied simply, his voice gravelly. All that did was leave a bit of an awkward silence between them. It was unbearable, more deafening than before. Arthur couldn’t take it. 

“How’s the hand?” He asked Charles, his smooth Louisiana accent lacing his words. Charles grunted, lifting his hand up and shifting his eyes down. “It’s alright.” The words were simple, and generally meaningless. Something to use for conversation. Something prickled one Arthur’s arm, he cupped a hand to the source, thinking it was some kind of bug. ‘What the hell kind of bug would be out here in the middle of frozen hell?’ He half-heartedly let his hand swing to his side. “Glad to hear it. M’ hopin’ you’re resting it, then.” It was a full attempt to keep the conversation going, but all he got in return was a short nod from Charles, bringing back the annoyingly loud silence. That particular silence was starting to get on Arthur’s nerves. 

“I should get back out there. M’ guessing Dutch probably wants somethin’” He spoke quickly, his accent slurring the words together. But Charles seemed to understand, nodding in response. Arthur didn’t leave room for discussion as he stepped out and quickly shut the barn door. He’d felt those same damn pinpricks as before, but he didn’t want to deal with it again. So he shoved those thoughts into an imaginary Whiskey bottle, it was a strange coping method for him that worked, for some odd reason. He decided not to wait around and began to head for the bunkhouse, following the short path, but he was stopped short by Pearson. 

“We’re gonna starve to death up here Mr. Morgan.” His voice rumbled, a large difference from the more cheerful tone he often took on.

“We’re okay…” Arthur responded, shortening his response as he really wasn’t keen on sticking around the barn. Arthur stepped into the little area designated for food and cooking. 

Pearson slid last him to the butchering table, picking up a knife and beginning to hack away at a rabbit. “We have a few cans of food… and a rabbit. For what, ten, twelve people?” His voice laced with concern. “When I was in the Navy-“

Arthur cut Pearson off, “I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy.” He’d known Pearson for a while and knew better than to let the man ramble on about the Navy.

Pearson continued anyways, ignoring Arthur’s comment. “We were stranded at sea for fifty days.” He stepped a bit more towards Arthur, dropping the knife and causing the opposite reaction instead, where Arthur backed up. Pearson went back to the rabbit. 

Arthur let the hint of a smirk tug at his lips. “And you unfortunately survived.” Despite being in literally a polar vortex, he still found room for jokes. 

He dropped the knife again, a display of frustration at Arthur. “When we ran from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in.” He finished. 

“Well when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short.” He joked again, though there was no smile or smirk this time. Only stone cold expression. “We’ll survive… We always have.” He paused, a smirk creeping onto his face again. “If needs be, we can eat you. You’re the fattest.” 

Pearson continued on, at this point immune to Arthur’s taunts and teasing. “I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing.” The last word came as more of a hiss.

Arthur scoffed, “Well Lenny’s more into book learning than hunting. Bills a fool.” Pearson stirred whatever kind of stew was in the pot while Arthur spoke, “Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t now wonder they found-“

Charles entered then, having left the barn and seemingly those arrows he was working on. Having heard the conversation, he cut it short, “Enough of this. We’ll go find something.” He told Pearson and Arthur, and leaving no room for protest. “Come on, Arthur.” 

‘You’re joking.’ Was the only thought Arthur heard of all the ones swirling in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to drop a Yee Yee comment or a Kudos! ♡ I’ll try to post bi-weekly, and I’ll make my next chapters longer!


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